


Leaving An Impression

by Mercale



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Black Romance, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mercale/pseuds/Mercale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes black romance is less about a thing being done, and more about how a thing is done. And Terezi Pyrope is all about how a thing is done, much to Gamzee's pleasure and annoyance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaving An Impression

**Author's Note:**

  * For [udorat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=udorat).



> I was one of many individuals involved in the Secret Santa Stuck 2012. This was my gift, for tumblr user [udorat](www.udorat.tumblr.com). Their requests varied, but when I saw that they would be happy with Blackrom of Terezi and Gamzee, I was of course forced to jump at the opportunity. They have since given me permission to post this to other places to share. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Some trolls would say that it came out of no where. Some would say it made no sense. Back on Alternia they would have laughed at someone of his level stooping to allow a serving motherfucker into one of his quadrants. Of course, those were the same blasphemous fucks that would dare to get their harsh up and on to the miracle of his best friend, and he wouldn’t have any of that just like he wouldn’t be having any kind of lip from even the voices in his head about the black bitch. Not even the honking voice in his head that Karkat all up and had his disapprove on about was allowed to speak poorly of his quadrants, for all that it tried.

The problem was that the voices in his pan, they couldn’t even up and understand the importance of it all. They whispered pain. They said maim. They screamed cull. They couldn’t up and wrap themselves around the fact that things had changed. Highblood or not, grand or not, that didn’t change the fact that the world had changed. Was still all up and miraculously changing. Wasn’t much of a purpose for killing EVERYONE no more. There was enough left in his pan, that hadn’t emptied out through the holes to realize that there weren’t up and many of them left. That if the Rose human was right and they could make a new mother grub, well, they’d still need trolls to make more trolls. And that meant that killing a troll he was black for, that was just plan stupid.

Not that he wanted to kill her. Sure, the voices wanted to make her bow, to have her stare up at him with her dead eyes, and then slam his club into the side of her skull. But that wasn’t what Gamzee wanted. What he wanted was to slam her up against the wall, the gray skin of her face turning pale, ashen, as he started to choke her.

“You look like you’re thinking hard. Pretty amazing for a pan-rotted sopor-addict.”

At the sound of Terezi’s grating voice Gamzee looked up from the pile of horns he’d been regarding, a pile that he’d seen Karkat sleeping on only hours ago, Gamzee couldn’t help but whirl, a snarl in place on his face. His snarling, though, was only met with one of those patented, razor sharp smirks. There was no doubting that she all up and had something prepared to launch at him. Which was wrong considering this was the one place that they had agreed to keep clear of the black. This was the place for Karkat, his palebro, her flushcrush, and it was almost sacred. If his mutant blooded brother learned what they all got up to, things would go sideways fast. All the quadrants would be messed up because no one denied that Karkat’d get up and caliginous on one of them for this, and fast.

“You ain’t up and allowed in here. This is my time.”

“Who said you get to decide when you get to crawl out of your vents and lay claim to a room?” Terezi countered, strolling around the edge of the room, not even looking in his direction. Not that the bitch could see him. Loved to remind a motherfucker that she was blind. As if it fucking mattered. She could better with her nose and ears than most trolls could with their eyes. Was almost a miracle, not that Gamzee thought it was. Miracles were things given by the Mirthful Messiahs—given by him—and she was a blasphemous creature that the Messiahs could never look down upon in favor.

“We agreed,” Gamzee pointed out, trying his best to stay calm for all the fact that there were voices in his head calling for him to paint the walls in her blood. No, that would never do. What was the point of a kismesis if you killed them? No, murals were right out. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t punish her with something else, maybe make a smaller painting in blessed teal on something small enough to carry with himself at all times. “Not a thing goes down in this room.”

“If my memory serves, and it always does, we agreed no such thing. You told me that nothing black was allowed to happen in this room, and I said that it was an interesting idea. I never said I agreed. Really, Mr. Huckleberry Poison, you should pay attention.”

“Cheater.”

“Not at all. I just operate within the exact parameters I agree to. It isn’t my fault that you don’t have enough in your pan to figure out how things work. Such a shame really. I’m beginning to think that we would have been better off retaining Eridan over you. At least his stupidity took predictable routes.”

As if that seadwelling motherfucker belonged anywhere near the remaining trolls, or Gamzee’s best motherfucking friend. Sure, maybe Gamzee had killed a few trolls, but not because they were worth less than him. Because while they were less than him, they were meant to serve, not to be ruined. No, Equius had been a threat because he had not understood where the true balance of power had rested. Nepeta had got what was coming to her for her behavior. As for Karkat… well that had been the voices, and he wasn’t up and listening to them anymore, so it didn’t much matter now did it?

“I ain’t even going to up and listen to your pointless words,” Gamzee said, returning his attention to the pile of horns that until recently his beloved moirail had been sleeping in.

Normally it was only when his moirail was sleeping that he came out of the vents, but he just hadn’t felt like crawling back in just yet. He should have known better. Should have known that staying out here would mean that Terezi would show up. The blind bitch always seemed to know when he was out and about. Maybe she picked up on some lack of vibration in the ventilation. Maybe a lot of things. Either way, he clearly should have withdrawn. Taken the chance to plan, quietly, waiting for the right moment to ambush her. Instead he was here, not quite sure what to do, but wanting to lunge across the pile of horns and claw her useless, offensively red eyes out of her fucking skull. How dare she even begin to share a scrap of Karkat’s miraculous color? Who did she even up and think she was?

“If you don’t want to listen, then don’t. But just because you can’t handle the truth doesn’t make it any less of the truth.”

“Truth?” Gamzee snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Sister, what do you even up and know of truth? All you ever see is these half-truths that have been fed to you and your kind for time immemorial, the things we wanted you to know so that you could better serve. Because that is all you fucking are. A servant of the great truth that you ain’t even up and capable of understanding. A pan like yours needs the order that we feed you, else you wouldn’t even know how to face life with all the miracles it’s up and got in store.”

“You say miracles, I say events that are easily explained by reason and science.”

“Man, Terezi, are you even up and trying?” She was, after all, so clearly trying to bait him. Did she really think he was going to fall for such low level attempts to anger him? If that was all she thought it took to get him angry, to keep their pitch hot on all the fires of hatred, the wicked sister had another thing coming. Gamzee heard far worse from the voices in his pan all the time. It was almost frustrating in and of itself ot see her doing so poorly at trying to upset him.

“Why would I even try? I mean, it was far more interesting to be black with Vriska, or even Karkat, than it ever could be to be black with you. Face it, Gamzee, you’re hardly even that interesting. Haven’t been since you stopped, you know, massacring our friends who were also, coincidentally, some of the last people of our race. Funny how that works out.”

It didn’t take much to ignore her. Simple really. Just keep looking at the pile, refuse to meet her eyes, refuse to acknowledge her presence. Just focus on the way that the light gleamed off of the mouths of his pile of horns. Think about the way that they cradled the body of his wonderful little, mutant-blooded motherfucker. How they each gave such miniature versions of the vast honk, a perfect little miracle of their own. Within them they held the limitless potential of the cosmos…

“Ugh, why does Karkles even keep this pile of junk?”

There was a moment, just a moment, where Gamzee realized just what was happening. Then, before he could so much as blink, there was a practical cacophony of little honks. As he watched, eyes intent upon the pile, everything started to tumble down around him. Little flashes of silver and rubber cascading over the floor, giving despondent little noises as each hit the floor. They were more like half-honks, a whisper of their potential squandered as they struck the stone. 

Silence, three whole seconds of it, when the horns stop falling. Silence from the horns. Silence from Terezi. Silence from the voices in his pan. Silence. Perfect silence.

He’s across the pile before thought really even begins to register in his pan. Across the pile and slamming Terezi up against the wall, one large hand wrapped tightly around her throat. Voices egg him on, commanding him to leave the fallen horns awash in her blood for the transgression. Instead he just puts the littlest bit of pressure into his fingers, and watches—eyes as wide as his grin—as his yellowed claws dug into the pale gray flesh of the blasphemer. Slowly teal blood started to ooze out around the sharp claws, slowly spreading onto his fingertips and recoloring his nails. It was beautiful, to see the color spread. Beautiful to see the wretched shade, spreading so freely. Ah, to paint with such a color…

“You should not have done that,” he growled, voice low and rumbling.

“You should not have MOTHERFUCKING done that,” he repeated, this time shouting right into her face.

“And just why not?” Terezi demanded, smirk still infuriatingly in place. “It’s just a pile of noisy, stinky, stupid horns.”

“You should really stop opening your fucking trap.”

“Make me.”

A fist, large and powerful, collided into the wall just to the left of Terezi’s head. He could feel the wall cave a bit under the blow, and smirked all the wider for it. How could he not when he saw the way that even the normally composed teal blood flinched at the sound. She was right to flinch. Nothing she could do could stand up to his might. The only reason she’d even managed to kill the winged bitch who had dared to kill his injured motherfucking friend was because Gamzee had arranged it. She couldn’t have laid a single finger on the winged bitch if it wasn’t for him.

It worked this time. Possibly because Gamzee had taken the time to lean in and scream it full force right into the ear of the cowering troll. Well, maybe not cowering, but close enough. Like as not her ears were ringing now, and the dazed look on her face was almost priceless.

“Now,” he whispered, knowing she wouldn’t even hear the words, “what the motherfuck am I supposed to do with you? Obviously I can’t expect you to be a reasonable little troll, a responsible little troll. Why have you got to go and do me like that? Because I’ll tell you what, I don’t up and appreciate your behavior. So, what do I do with a disobedient fuck?”

His response came soon enough, in the form of the claws of one of Terezi’s hands slashing across the exposed flesh of the arm pinning her. In their wake was several streaks of purple and a dull ache below the flow of the blood. Gamzee growled and pressed harder against her neck, pressing in, reveling in the feeling of his fingers drawing ever closer. How much more pressure would it take? How close would they have to be, for how long, before she died? How long could she last without breath?

Another scratch, and this time it isn’t alone. Even as he starts to react to the pain there is a new one, Terezi’s knee in his stomach. His hand comes off of her neck, unable to hold on because he needs to double over to deal with the pain. There isn’t even time to recover. Next thing he knows he’s falling backward, thrown from the force of two hands thrust forward against his chest. Pain, sharp and sudden, and a riot of honking as he collapses back into the sharp and unyielding pile of horns. Between the knee, hands, and fall, there is no breath left in him, none to be had at all.

“As if you’d even know what to do,” Terezi snapped, stepping forward with all of the confidence of a troll who wasn’t blind and stepping onto an unstable pile of horns. “Can’t even keep hold of the upper hand. Too confident. Always the downfall of you damn highbloods. I can’t even imagine why my kind would even bother to serve you. Left to your own devices, you’d pretty much implode with all your miracles.”

Gamzee’s claws sink into the first horns that came to hand at either side of them. They’d make some pretty decent weapons in any situation, even better ones when you considered he was a master fighter with anything that came to hand. Problem was there wasn’t even a chance. If Terezi was good at one thing, it was not giving Gamzee a chance. It was one of the real reasons he hated her. It took so much time, so much motherfucking planning, to get a hand up on her. Not that he wasn’t capable of the planning. Just that it took so much time, so much motherfucking EFFORT to get them perfect. So much letting the voices in his pan plan when he was afraid of letting them loose. Too many chances he might mess up and Karkat would learn what was happening. Too many risks. And yet whenever she had a moment like this, where her cane sword’s blade was lightly tracing over his neck, he couldn’t help but wish he had put more thought into things.

“If you hurt him,” Terezi whispered, her voice so low that Gamzee almost had to lean up, strain against the blade at his throat, to make the words out, “I’ll slit your throat.”

“Why would I even up and do that shit?” Gamzee asked, glaring. “Ain’t what moirails is about. But the second he’s over your sorry, skinny ass, you ain’t seeing another day.”

“Just try.”

“I promise.”

“Not that you’re good at keeping them.”

“Says the troll who swore to save lives on this fucking meteor.”

There isn’t a chance to say more, because the blade is gone and Gamzee’s been hauled to his feet and into a violent, lip tearing kiss. Terezi’s lips tearing into his, his teeth into hers, and blood flows too easily both ways.

And as suddenly as it starts, it’s over. The cold, sharp bitch pulls away, sheathing her blade as she moves. All she gives him is a brief smile, her teeth bared and showing off the mixture of teal and purple, and then she’s turning away and striding out of the room. Gamzee is left there, staring after her. There is no real way to chase her. Not with Kanaya’s promise to see him dead. She’d left, and he couldn’t pursue in any real way but through the vents. It was frustrating. It was annoying. It was maddening.

It was perfect.

As much as he hated her, Gamzee had to respect one thing. Terezi sure knew how to make an exit that left a kismesis hungry. With a smirk Gamzee drew an arm across his face, enjoying the feeling of the mingling of their blood smearing across his face. For a few minutes he set about tidying the little room, making sure there was no sign of the fight that had taken place. Then, his pan rolling over all sorts of possibilities for revenge, he pried the vent grating from the wall, slid into the narrow tunnel, and pulled the grating back into place behind him. There would be time to seek out his moirail later. For now he needed time and silence to think.

To think about the right way to avenge himself upon the troll he hated like no other.


End file.
